A Thin Red Line
by Annie M1
Summary: Why does Tom keep his shirt on, when all around him are loosing theirs? Set around mid-season 5 of the series.


Title: A Thin Red Line  
Author: Annie M (trekgirl@mushy.freeserve.co.uk)  
Series: Voyager   
Part: 1/1  
Rating: PG  
Codes: P, Crew, P/T   
  
This story was written last year, as a challenge from a   
mailing list I belong to. The challenge question was:  
Why have we never seen Tom Paris bare his chest?  
  
Summary: Why does Tom keep his shirt on, when all around  
him are loosing theirs? Set around mid-season 5 of the  
series.  
  
Disclaimer: Viacom/Paramount owns the ship and all  
characters. I'm just kidnapping them for fun and not profit.  
  
Thanks to PJ in NH and pjs for beta reading.   
  
  
~~/~~/~~/~~  
  
  
A Thin Red Line  
by Annie M  
  
  
The Resort program had lain dormant in Voyager's databanks  
for months. The events of the past year had taken its toll on the  
ship and crew, and surprisingly on some of the recreational  
activities also. The fun and sunshine of the resort had been  
replaced with Captain Proton's monochrome scenarios,  
Velocity--according to the holodeck logs, both the captain and  
Seven spent a hell of a lot of time playing it--and the smoky  
atmosphere of Sandrine's.   
  
One could argue that all of these programs were equally  
entertaining. Neelix, however, would not have agreed. He  
fervently believed that there was nothing better to encourage his  
crewmates than the sparkling and reflective heat one found on a  
sumptuous, tropical beach.  
  
Suggesting a Delta Quadrant style Bar-B-Q on the beach to the  
captain, at a staff meeting to boost morale (yet again), had been  
met with a disdainful glare from Janeway. Seven had thought it  
frivolous but Commander Chakotay, intuitive man that he was,  
had immediately supported the idea.  
  
"Sounds great, Neelix," he'd said. "It's just what this crew  
needs. With all the uphill battles we've faced this year from  
the Borg, and the Malon among others, and not to mention that Void  
we passed through. What do you think, Captain?"  
  
Kathryn Janeway gave her first officer a thoughtful look. She  
knew he had mentioned the Void for her benefit more than  
anyone else's. Chakotay knew she was still harbouring feelings  
of guilt about their 5-year-old journey. In fact, she was sure that  
if they asked the doctor, he would probably tell her most of the  
crew were still feeling the after effects of the Void on their  
equilibrium, some more so than others.  
  
"You're more in touch with the crew's feelings than I am,  
Commander."   
Her comments raised a few eyebrows around the table.   
  
"I'll leave this Bar-B-Q to you and Mr. Neelix. I'll be on  
the Bridge. If there's nothing else, this meeting's adjourned."  
  
Not exactly the most enthusiastic permission he had ever  
received from his captain, Neelix recalled but he was sure that  
Captain Janeway would enjoy herself later this evening when  
she was due to make an appearance.  
  
As Neelix turned juicy cuts of meat and vegetables over the fire  
he looked about him. Tahiti. A small tropical island found in the  
South Pacific on Earth according to the ship's computer.   
When he had tried to elicit suggestions for the cookout from the  
senior staff, it was to his and Tom Paris' surprise that B'Elanna  
Torres had suggested Tahiti as the locale for their social  
function.  
  
Neelix had noticed a look pass between Paris and Torres;   
B'Elanna had shrugged her shoulders and murmured to Tom, "If  
we're going to do this on a beach it might as well be at one I  
like." Tom and Neelix had both chuckled.  
  
He noticed them now, a few feet away from Harry Kim, who was  
having his backed oiled by Jenny Delaney. B'Elanna lay face  
down on a towel, clad only in a skimpy black bikini. Tom Paris  
sat next to her wearing baggy black swimming shorts and a  
white tee shirt, plainly ogling B'Elanna's pert backside.   
  
Naomi and Sam Wildman were splashing each other at the  
water's edge, in matching red swim wear. Chakotay and Ayala  
were wading into the water as Megan Delaney surfaced from  
the ocean after a short swim.   
  
"Ah, Mr. Vulcan!" Neelix exclaimed, "I'm delighted you could  
come and join us." Neelix beamed triumphantly at the Vulcan  
security chief. Tuvok was dressed in a pair of white cotton  
pants that cut-off just above his calves, which he wore with a  
garishly designed green and yellow Hawaiian shirt.  
  
"Nice shirt, Tuvok!" Harry Kim called out.  
  
B'Elanna turned over to take a peak at her superior officer and  
immediately started laughing. "Tom, did you lend Tuvok one of  
your beach shirts?" she asked between giggles.  
  
"Hey! I have great taste in clothing," Tom responded, feigning  
offence at such a charge.  
  
Tuvok ignored the comments, arching his eyebrows at the group  
as a holographic busboy appeared carrying a tray full of tall,  
exotic looking, beverages.  
  
"I was sure you would turn up in your uniform," Neelix joked to  
Tuvok.  
  
"Commander Chakotay advised me to wear attire that would  
'blend in,' " Tuvok responded.   
  
Neelix could only imagine Tuvok following such orders under   
pain of death, but he appreciated the effort the Vulcan was   
making.   
  
Naomi bounded up to Tom and B'Elanna, throwing herself into  
Tom's lap.  
  
"Come on, Tom. Let's go for a swim!" she said, pulling at Tom's  
hands. "You too, B'Elanna," she cajoled leaning over Tom's lap   
to give B'Elanna's backside a playful slap.  
  
B'Elanna twisted around and sat up. "Why you little..."   
  
Who invited this kid anyway? B'Elanna thought as she picked  
up a handful of sand and tossed it at Naomi. The child laughed  
as sand landed in her hair and she took immediate refuge under  
Tom's tee shirt, pulling it up and over her head and spooning  
sand blindly in the general direction of B'Elanna.  
  
"Wanna play rough, huh?" B'Elanna teased as she stood up and  
grabbed the small child's ankles. Pulling her out of the  
protective confines of Tom's torso and up over her shoulder.   
"You are so going to get it, missy," B'Elanna was saying as she  
marched down to the water's edge, Naomi laughing and pleading   
all the way.  
  
"I didn't mean it!" she wailed.  
  
"Then I guess I don't mean this," B'Elanna responded as she  
dunked Naomi into an oncoming wave. She grabbed the child  
up and repeated the process, being careful not to let the water  
cover Naomi completely.  
  
Tom watched them both, grinning and a little amazed at the  
easy intimacy B'Elanna had with the child. He was never too  
sure if she actually liked children; it was something they had  
never thought to discuss.  
  
"Hey, Tom?" Jenny Delaney called out to him, "Why don't you  
take off your shirt? I could rub some lotion on your back like I  
did for Harry."  
  
Harry Kim rolled his eyes to the holographic heavens. Was  
Jenny insane? Did she think B'Elanna was deaf because she  
was 15 metres away, and playing with Naomi?  
  
"Ah, that's okay, Meg. B'Elanna already did me," Tom replied  
looking for some kind of response from B'Elanna. Maybe she  
hadn't heard? Yeah, right.  
  
"It's Jenny. So why don't you take off the shirt?" Jenny  
persisted, barely noticing Tom's goof with her name.  
  
"Give it a rest, Jen," Megan advised from her position at the  
Bar-B-Q, where Neelix was serving her a kebab.  
  
Tom pulled lightly at the hem of his shirt, raised it about a  
quarter of an inch, hesitated then let it fall. He could already  
hear the questions his friends would ask following his disrobing,  
and see their curious glances.   
  
Not too many years ago there was a part of him that would have  
welcomed that curiosity....  
  
  
~~/~~/~~/~~  
  
  
The sun was a blazing white-hot sphere, in a cloudless sky. His  
skin burned and itched, as he felt the sun sucking every last  
millimetre of moisture from his body. Tom Paris was stripped to  
the waist, removing the top half of his prison issue coverall in an  
effort not to stifle to death. Now, he was just burning to death  
instead.   
  
He gritted his teeth against his tightening flesh and bent to  
retrieve the empty power-cell, trowing it into a recycling unit  
near by. As he moved he could feel rivulets of perspiration flow  
down his back, chest and arms stinging him viciously. The  
ankle bracelet he wore--a convict location device--chaffed his  
left ankle, tormenting the already raw flesh.  
  
Muted laughter caught his ear and Tom turned to find several  
inmates crowded around a water pipe. They appeared to be all  
male, stripped as he was, abdomens exposed. The armholes  
on their jump-suits either hanging about the prisoners legs or  
tied off loosely around their waists. They stood around the pipe  
catching water in their hands, drinking and taking turns at  
dunking the backs of their necks under the spray.  
  
Why didn't I think of that?  
  
Tepid though the water would be in this heat, the thought of  
quenching his thirst and giving his body a little release from the  
unforgiving orb of sol was enough to make Tom's tongue thicken   
in anticipation.  
  
He headed for the small group.  
  
"You're a little fair ain't you, newbie?" One of the group  
observed rather loudly as Tom approached.  
  
"Fair and pretty," muttered another.  
  
"What you in for, newbie?" a tall, thin, alien asked. The alien  
stood about seven feet and had the longest arms Tom had ever  
seen. The alien's arms hung limply at his sides, dangling way  
past his knees. Its features were humanoid and plane against  
pale green skin, and at first glance you could be forgiven for  
thinking you had stumbled across an oversized, genetically  
engineered lettuce leaf.   
  
Tom stood silently, not sure what to say or how to handle them.  
  
"Did the warden cut out your tongue, newbie?" the lettuce leaf  
asked again. His comment generating a series of snorting and  
guffaws from the congregated group.  
  
"Murder." The word tripped off Tom's tongue before he gave  
himself a chance to even think about it.  
  
Why the hell did I say murder?!  
  
Caldik Prime.   
  
Tom's momentary surprise at his own words was not allowed to  
linger. 'Lettuce' clapped Tom's shoulder and chuckled.  
  
"Murder, huh? So what, newbie? You think you're serving time  
in a maximum-security pen?"  
  
Tom closed his eyes.  
  
Another round of raucous laughter erupted from the group.  
  
"What are you really in for?" asked another.  
  
"Treason," Tom replied simply. "I was in the Maquis."  
  
A serious hush descended briefly among them and all eyes  
were now fixed on Tom Paris. The silence seemed to be filled  
with questions, unspoken accusations, fears and regrets,  
though no one spoke a word, until at last:  
  
"Is that how you got that scar?"  
  
Instinctively Tom's right hand raised up and caressed the skin,  
just under and to the left of his sternum. He fingered the pale  
red line, which ran around to a point somewhere under his arm  
absently.  
  
"No," he admitted quietly, "I was in an accident."  
  
Caldik Prime.  
  
The seven-foot tall, green alien stood aside and motioned for  
Tom to take a drink.  
  
Tom stepped forward and cupped his hands, catching the  
sun-warmed water. He splashed it against his face, drank  
blindly for a few seconds and then leaned his head under the  
pipe, letting the water sluice down the back of his neck and  
shoulders. Letting the water drive away the grime as his own  
mind tried to drive away unwelcome memories.  
  
Caldik Prime. His brief but miserable time in the Maquis; months  
spent in a drunken stupor; his father; the faces of his dead  
friends; his Starfleet career.   
  
Everything about his life lay in ruins, and now all he had left was  
time to reflect on it. Too much time and a scar he refused to  
have removed. A scar he wore as a symbol of his selfishness  
and arrogance; a reminder of what he was, what he had become.  
  
He had spoken the truth; he was a murderer.  
  
It was torture for Tom to be reminded of his recent past, but in  
his mind he knew he needed to be punished for it. Starfleet had  
only booted him out because he told the truth. His father had  
disowned him because he had refused to lie.   
  
So, while he lay recovering from his injuries at Caldik, Tom had  
begged the surgeons to let that one spot on his abdomen heal  
on its own. It was not a life threatening injury he had pleaded,  
and doctors being doctors, they'd succumbed to his wishes  
eventually. The scar, they concluded, would do him no harm.  
  
The irony of Tom's present predicament was not lost on him  
either. Here he was in a New Zealand prison, finally being  
punished by the authorities, but he was not here for the greater  
crime of murder but for attempting to save the lives of  
Chakotay's Maquis cell.   
  
He knew he was no great loss to the Maquis--they had all  
treated him with contempt--knowing of his "golden boy" Starfleet  
background and his humiliating fall from grace. He had not  
helped their image of him either, drinking copious amounts of  
booze in a pathetic attempt to hide his own guilt and depression.   
Pretending that he didn't care; couldn't be hurt, and playing the  
mercenary so well that there were times when even he would fall   
for the hollow charade.  
  
It didn't matter now, anyway. He was finished; maybe  
Chakotay's cell was too. He ran a finger against the scar again.   
He didn't deserve any better.  
  
  
~~/~~/~~/~~  
  
  
"Jeez, I mean," Jenny was still saying, "every other guy here,  
apart from Tom and Tuvok, are showing us a little chest action."  
  
Harry could not deny the truth of Jenny's words. Chakotay and  
Ayala were still out swimming, bare chests exposed. Here he  
was, enjoying the feel of the sun on his bare back, and even  
Neelix was wearing a super-short tee shirt that showed off a lot  
more of his abdomen than was necessary, in Harry's opinion.   
He could also understand Tuvok's reluctance to bare himself in  
such a public place, but Tom?  
  
Harry didn't know what to think; maybe it was nothing and no big  
deal. If Tom decided to wear his tee shirt all day, so what? It  
didn't mean anything.  
  
"Hey, Delaney!"   
  
Everyone but Jenny had been expecting this call.   
  
Jenny turned to stare at the approaching form of Voyager's chief  
engineer. B'Elanna strutted towards Jenny with a catlike grace,  
and although devoid of uniform, the sight of her was no less  
intimidating for the stellar cartographer.  
  
"He takes it off for me, and only me! Got it?" B'Elanna stated   
in an even yet deadly tone.  
  
"Yes, Lieutenant," Jenny squeaked.  
  
"The food's ready, everyone." Neelix called in timely fashion.   
  
Hopefully averting any further disasters.  
  
  
~~/~~/~~/~~  
  
  
"You know, you could use a regenerator on it, Tom."   
B'Elanna suggested several hours later, laying snugly and sated  
Against Tom's chest. They had returned from the holodeck, without  
further incident two hours before, and now they were resting in  
the aftermath of a languorous session of lovemaking.  
  
"You don't have to keep it," she whispered against his neck as  
her fingers gently wove along Tom's sternum and ribs, tracing  
the old scar that still resembled a thin red line under his heart.  
  
"I need it," Tom whispered. "I need to know it's there."  
  
B'Elanna raised herself up slowly against Tom's longer frame  
and asked, "Why? Why keep it?"  
  
Tom shook his head and stared at B'Elanna. "Three people died  
at Caldik Prime, B'Elanna. By my hand. I need to remember  
that, and this is how."  
  
"You're not a killer, Tom. Caldik was a terrible accident--"  
  
"You weren't there, B'Elanna!" he said interrupting her, his voice  
filling with emotion. "You don't know what happened. It was my  
fault."  
  
"Are you telling me it wasn't an accident now?"  
  
"Of course it was," Tom answered instinctively, then considered  
his words. He sighed heavily and remained silent for a long  
time.  
  
He fixed his gaze on the dark ceiling of his quarters and tried to  
remember the past with a little more clarity. This was always  
difficult as there were long stretches of that past that were  
permanently lost to him through his four-year addiction to  
alcohol.   
  
Yet, through it all, he'd worn this scar as a cautionary reminder  
of his excessive self-indulgence; his own scarlet letter.  
  
Taking off his shirt in public was, initially, a way to warn others  
of his past transgressions. In his mind it didn't matter if anyone  
knew what the scar meant or not, it only had to be seen.   
  
Self-flagellation.  
  
Why now, did he cover it up?   
  
B'Elanna answered the question for him.  
  
"You're not the same man you were then, Tom. You've changed.   
You changed a long time-ago. You're not the arrogant pig who first  
stepped onto Voyager five years ago."   
B'Elanna leaned over him and kissing his forehead, stared deeply into  
his eyes. Tom blushed as he tried to avoid her unwavering attention.  
  
"You deserve better, Tom. Stop beating yourself up over something   
you can do nothing about. What happened was terrible but it's done.  
The fact that you're here, now, and still thinking about them is   
good."   
  
A puzzled expression crossed Tom's eyes and he frowned up at B'Elanna,  
not quite understanding what she was getting at.  
  
"Because you remember them," she continued, "you'll never repeat it,  
Tom. Never. But you don't need a scar to remember them by."  
  
B'Elanna bent to him again, kissing the scar and tracing it with  
her tongue.   
  
Maybe, after all this time, he did deserve a little better.   
Regardless, he would never forget.  
  
  
End.  
  
  



End file.
